To Outsmart a Nitwit
by GhostOfBambi
Summary: Because Lily Evans is most definitely not boring, and James Potter is most definitely a complete idiot.


**To Outsmart a Nitwit**

James Potter can remember (and remember with great clarity) the very moment when, as he likes to define it, his entire life was turned upside down for good. The moment, in fact, when he first realized that what had been his crush on a certain redoubtable young redhead named Lily Evans had transcended the particulars of a crush, and in doing so had entered the realm of what most people like to call love. Love being that dizzying, terrifying emotion which no dictionary can satisfactorily define and the cowardly shy away from. James Potter would have it stated for the record that he is most definitely no coward, and he would be quite correct to insist so. If James Potter were to elaborate on the matter of his own personality, he would probably describe himself as a debonair, handsome, witty and talented individual.

James Potter is actually a prize fool; but let us never allow it be said that the witless cannot be sensible.

She was sitting by the fire with her feet on an end table and a book on her lap, on top of which she had placed a sheet of parchment which she had been scribbling away at for several minutes before James decided to betake himself over to her and cheerfully ruin her evening. There was nothing untoward about this scene which may have suggested for a second that a momentous, mind-boggling event was about to occur, unless one would like to consider the fact that the ink pot which had been sitting on Lily's knee in a magnificent display of balance had not shaken even once, but that is hardly any sort of indication, merely a testament to Lily's ability to sit perfectly still in one attitude for prolonged amounts of time. James certainly did not have any inkling that his life was about to be significantly altered, although again, James is an idiot. It would not have made much difference.

"Afternoon, Evans." Oh, but he was so very suave. In his opinion.

"_Evening_, Potter." Lily did not look up from whatever it was she was writing, but shoved her left wrist beneath his nose, displaying a silver wristwatch with a blue strap. "It's past six. Ergo evening, ergo bugger off and leave me alone."

"You know, I've always wondered how we drew the distinction between night and evening," James replied, sitting on the sofa beside her with a thud and almost sending her ink bottle hurtling to its doom. "How do we know which is which?"

Lily still declined to bestow her gaze upon him, instead caught the ink bottle deftly in her hand and placed it on the arm of the sofa.

"That's a subject I'd love to discuss with you, Potter, as I'm sure it would provide endless scope for a lively debate, but I'm far too busy right now to do the subject the justice it deserves." She dipped her quill in the fortunate ink bottle and continued to scratch away. "Maybe another time."

"I love it when you speak to me all cleverly, with your grammar and your words," he responded smoothly. "It's really sexy, Evans."

"Well, I know how you like to jack off to your thesaurus," was her dull reply, as she frowned down at her parchment and scratched her chin with her quill. "You haven't finished this essay, have you?"

"Well played." He studied her profile in the rosy glow of the fireplace, and a smile played at his lips. "Which one is it?"

To quote sexually frustrated teenage boys the world over, Lily Evans was really rather bangable. At least, this was James' humble opinion of the girl, if the opinion of a self-important, borderline-narcissist (he made up for this by being quite the sweetheart, and given that James was quite obviously a colossal nitwit, there might even have been a certain charm to his arrogance) could ever be considered humble. Certainly she was very pretty, with dark red hair and beautiful emerald eyes, both of which were nicely complimented by pale, milky skin and a slight, slender figure. The way she held herself and her aesthetics in general gave the impression of one who was both delicate and intimidating all at once, and it was, perhaps, fascinating to a young man who believed his tastes to be above those of lesser mortals.

There was that, and he liked the way her arse moved when she walked.

"Herbology," she sighed, throwing her quill down and turning her head to look at him, finally, her chin touching her shoulder. "Half the books I needed were checked out of the library already and this is difficult enough as it is without the proper resources. Besides," she added, letting out a mournful sigh. "I'm just not feeling it. Sprout is going to _kill _me if I don't get it in for tomorrow."

"So?"

"_So_?"

"So, you'll miss a deadline for the first time in history, it's not a big deal. I've missed loads."

"Oh." She blinked, and closed her book over her parchment. "Comforting. Really comforting. Head Girls don't miss their deadlines."

"You're not head girl, though."

"I want to be next year," she reminded him, having informed him of this desire on many occasions. "And I highly doubt that Dumbledore will give the position to a sodding slacker."

"I slack all the time and I got nine O.W.L.S," he pointed out. "Mostly Outstandings, too."

"It's a pity that the O.W.L examiners don't decide who gets the positions of authority in this school, then," she snapped, appearing as if she were trying to _feign _irritation, rather than actually feeling irritated. "If you don't have anything constructive or helpful to offer, could you please leave? You're distracting me from my work."

"I'm distracting you, eh?" He wriggled his eyebrows and slung his arm around her shoulders, grinning. Lily did not appear to be impressed by this.

"Once again, you've taken an arbitrary comment and given it a dirty meaning," she quipped dryly, removing his arm from around her shoulders. "Well done."

"I'm a talented boy. Aren't you used to this by now?"

"Sadly, no," she admitted, with the air of one who was confessing to a weakness. "I foolishly live in hope that one day you will realize your own potential and start acting like a grown up."

"So you think I've got potential?"

"If I say yes, will you leave me in peace?"

"No."

There was a pause in the conversation.

"No, I don't think you have potential."

"Didn't say I'd leave if you said no, did I?"

Lily responded by picking up a cushion and burying her head in it.

"Go away, Potter," she mumbled from within its depths.

"I still don't see what the big deal is," he said again, for he truly didn't understand what she was so stressed over. "It's one essay. They're not going to take away your chances of making Head Girl for one stupid essay."

"Complacency breeds more complacency," she retorted, hitting him lightly with the pillow. She dropped it on the floor next to her feet. "You let one thing slide and everything else follows. It's a horrid habit to pick up."

"You're just a barrel of fun, you are," he said, laughing softly.

Her brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only the obvious, that you're anal-retentive and don't know how to loosen up."

"I know how to loosen up!" she protested hotly, scowling, and James saw something flash dangerously in her eyes.

"Oh yeah?" he raised an eyebrow at her, a well-practiced art of his.

"Yes!"

"Okay, really?" He turned to the side and stared her down. "Aside from the detentions I've landed you in, have you ever gotten one all by yourself?"

"Er, no, but that's only because I'm not an idiot like you."

"Have you ever been drunk?"

"No, but I don't like alcohol."

"And you've never missed a homework deadline."

"No, but-"

"Point proven. You're boring."

"I'm not _boring_!" she cried, looking genuinely put out, which was good for James, because Lily Evans was so very appealing when she pouted at him.

"Alright, maybe boring was a bad choice of words," he backtracked, since he had never had a conversation with Lily Evans that came anywhere near resembling boring. "But you never have any fun, do you? You spend your time studying when your mates are outside having a laugh, you obsess over your homework to the point where people want to knock you unconscious, you bring books to Quidditch matches -"

"One time!"

"You refuse to join in whenever me and the lads organize something fun, even when your friends are coming with -"

"What Mary and Alice do in their spare time-"

"And you think our pranks are stupid," he finished triumphantly. "No offence, Evans, but you don't half have a stick up your arse sometimes."

"Is that so?" she said, narrowing her eyes dangerously.

"I do believe it is."

She stared at him for a few seconds, her forehead creased into a frown, like she was deliberating something, and James leaned back in his seat, placing his hands behind his head, and waited for the inevitable fallout.

"Fine," she announced all of a sudden, slamming her book and parchment into her school bag and rising to her feet. "Fine." Her ink bottle _did_ fall to the ground this time and she made no effort to retrieve it. "You think I'm boring, well fine. We'll see. You just wait, James Potter, you just _wait_."

And without further ado (and without even bothering to take any of her things with her), she gave him a firm kick to the shin and marched from the common room, her abundant hair streaming behind her like a soft, ruby ribbon.

Ribbing Lily was tremendous fun. At least, James thought it was tremendous fun. Particularly since sixth year had rolled around and the two of them had called a truce somewhere in a middle of a detention they had shared after a mishap in Potions class (entirely his fault, entirely beyond her control, entirely meditated on his part), since now he was one of those lucky people who could consider themselves Lily's pal. The term 'friend' would have been pushing it, but James was working steadily away on getting himself into that bracket. His own mates would grumble and moan and tell him to shut the hell up about Evans already, or to stop staring at her, or even to leave her alone for five minutes, but James never listened to their pleas. The urge to flirt with Lily, or debate with her, or even to poke fun at her consistent refusal to bend the rules or pull a practical joke, was far too great to ignore. He was only human, after all.

Besides, he knew what he was doing when it came to Lily Evans. He could poke her and tease her and irritate her to the point of lunacy, and sometimes he would receive several days of frosty indifference for his efforts, but she always forgave him in the end. Whatever it was that had once existed between them and prevented her from looking at him in any light other than negative had vanished, and he considered it a battle won.

He'd get there, eventually. He'd get there.

When Lily came back about thirty minutes later, which he had suspected she would, she did so with McGonagall in tow. This was a rather unusual occurrence, but James was logical enough to know that although he had been annoying, he had done nothing to merit the wrath of their head of house, and had decided to think nothing of it.

At least, he thought nothing of it until McGonagall was standing in front of him with her hands on her hips and an expression of utter ferocity on her face, Lily right next to her, and demanding that he explain what exactly had possessed him to do something so downright cruel and unnecessary.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do not lie to me, Potter. You have tested my patience quite enough already today. How did you do it?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"He's lying!" Lily insisted from beside McGonagall, arms folded and lips set in a firm scowl. She appeared to be close to tears. "I knew he'd do this. Look at his face; he's trying not to laugh."

"I didn't do anything!" he repeated, louder this time, looking at Lily as if she had gone mad. Had it really reached the stage where she was reporting people just for having a laugh? Had she cracked? Had he pushed her over the edge? "I was just talking to her. It's not my fault that she can't take a joke."

"This has gone beyond a joke, Potter, and I will not stand for it," McGonagall replied, her tone clipped and brusque. "Detention!"

"But I didn't _do_anything!"

Lily shook her head from side to side, looking at him if she couldn't believe his audacity. Beside her, McGonagall was doing the exact same thing. The other inhabitants of the common room were watching the scene with interest, all dying to find out what exactly James had done to upset Lily so. James privately came to the conclusion that women were mental.

"I've tried absolutely everything I can think of and nothing works," said Lily woefully. "It took me absolutely ages to get it finished and he knew it. I'm going to get in _so _much trouble."

"You need not worry about that, Miss Evans. When is this essay due?"

"Tomorrow morning," she sniffed and appeared to blink back tears. "I've already brought back all of my library books and somebody else checked them out, so I can't start it again tonight. It's alright for _him_, he doesn't understand how important this is to me."

"Rest assured, you won't be getting into any trouble," said McGonagall soothingly, or as soothingly as someone like her could be. Their Transfiguration teacher seemed to have one default setting: curt, and it was testament to how fond she was of Lily that she could muster up some softness for the girl. "Some spells can only be reversed by the caster. If Potter could vanish the essay, he should be quite able to reverse the spell."

She shoved a blank piece of parchment beneath James' nose, and in one alarming second, it became clear to him what Lily had done. Lily, with her unsoiled, glowing reputation amongst the school's populous, had never commended his love for practical jokes, and was so righteous and noble that even if she were to seek out her head of house and feed her downright lies, she would be believed unquestionably. How simple. How brilliant. What manipulative genius.

He looked from Lily to the parchment and back again, she watching him through a haze of red hair and crocodile tears, her lips curved into the most iniquitous, most wicked, most undeniably bewitching smile he had ever seen in his life, now that McGonagall's attentions were now entirely focused on the punch-drunk young man in front of her. Her emerald eyes were sparkling, the delight in them palpable, because she had well and truly beaten him, he who considered himself master of all that was devious, and had done so by using to her advantage the very virtues which so clearly set the two of them apart.

He grinned stupidly back, unable to help himself.

"This is no laughing matter, Potter," McGonagall scolded him, unaware of the grinning girl beside her and blissfully ignorant of the intangible Something which had just passed between Lily and James. He was not ignorant, however, _he_felt it, and he could have sworn by the look in Lily's eyes that she was feeling something unusual herself. "Now set it right unless you want another detention on top of the one you already have."

"No," he said, shrugging.

"Excuse me?" McGonagall's tone had reached new levels of iciness.

"No," he repeated. Lily covered her mouth with her hand and bit back a laugh.

"Reverse it _now_, Potter."

"Nah, I can't." He shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned easily at them. "I've forgotten how."

Silence. Utter silence. And then...

"A week's worth of detentions!" McGonagall snapped, although she could have announced her intention to kill him while he slept and James would not have noticed. "Miss Evans, I shall talk to Professor Sprout about giving you a week's extension on your essay, so you needn't worry about it."

"Thank you, professor," said Lily softly, eyes on the ground, shaking with mirth.

"You need to take a good look at yourself and think a great deal about your attitude, Potter," were McGonagall's parting words to James. Oh, but she would despise him so for the next few weeks. "And if I were you I would remember that counter-charm before the evening is out, or you _will _face the consequences."

She turned on her heel and swiftly exited the room, the heels of her shoes clicking as she went, leaving James finally, wonderfully alone with the object of his affections.

And about twenty other students, but what did they matter?

A few years later, Lily would tell James that the moment when she had first acknowledged to herself that she was harbouring feelings for him (and for clarity's sake, it must be known that acknowledging a crush to oneself is not the same as _having_ the crush on the first place) was the same moment in which he realized that he had fallen for her, and his suspicion about intangible Somethings would be proven correct. He would grin and tell her he loved her and press his lips against the bare, warm skin of her shoulder. She would push him back against the mattress and tell him that actions spoke louder than words, and she wanted to show him just how _much _she loved him in return.

"Got an extension, then?"

"Yeah, actually," she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she smirked at the ground. "You'd be surprised how accommodating McGonagall can be if you just explain the situation to her."

"Oh, well, honesty is the best policy, as they say."

"Indeed." She peeked at him through her hair. "It's the creed by which I live my life."

"I'm going to marry you, Evans," he announced, as if this was a perfectly ordinary turn in the conversation, and not at all an outlandish statement.

"Are you?" she asked, mild curiosity showing in her eyes.

"Yes." He grinned at her. "I've made my mind up just now."

"I see." She grinned back. "Well, thank you for telling me in advance. I'll know to keep my diary clear for the twelfth of never."

"I'd appreciate that. Wedding venues get booked up in advance so quickly these days."

"I'm nothing if not considerate," she said airily, picking up her bag from the ground. "And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go upstairs and finish this essay in the peace I so rightfully deserve."

"No need, I'll leave you to it," he offered generously, with a gentlemanly bow. "I feel like going outside for a bit. Enjoy your peace and quiet."

"That's very kind of you."

"Well, we'll have plenty of time to talk when we're married."

"Good luck with that."

James Potter is, undoubtedly, a prize fool; but let us never allow it be said that the idiotic cannot make wise decisions.


End file.
